6 a.m. Thursday morning I strode into the nick and checked the night log and it said we had one prisoner in the cells. Prisoners are a bind. We try to avoid them at all costs. They have to be fed, dressed, watched over, taken to court and generally pandered to when we could be out doing more important things, like, well, catching more prisoners. We were in early because I wanted a little talk with Frederick Raw, and he had a record of violence as long as Heckley High Street, so it had to be done properly. It’s amazing how many ex-shotgun licensees just happen to have an unregistered one lying around. The mess room was crowded with uniforms wearing body armour, carrying weapons, sipping coffee. Upstairs in CID, Dave was waiting, and one or two others. He said: ‘Morning, Charlie. There’s a prisoner in the cells.’ ‘Mmm, I saw the log. Anybody we know?’ ‘The Happy Fryer.’ ‘Who?’ ‘The Happy Fryer. He’s the proprietor of that fish and chip shop near the bus station.
